From where we began
by Vivien99
Summary: A stand alone fic, pre-series, slightly AU. Treville searches for new recruits and somehow saves Porthos and Aramis from their old lifes within it.


**This story will be AU and takes place pre-series. **

**I took some aspects of the show and twisted and turned them a little bit… not going to tell more, just read it.**

**Warnings: A little bit of violence here and there.  
Mentions of prostitution.**

The smell of filth and death reached his nose, causing him to gag.

Under normal circumstances Treville would walk around this area of Paris. It was not only the dirt and disease which made the Court of miracles so unpleasant to wander through, but criminal and desperate men and women waited on every corner. A man like him, well-dressed and clean was a loved target in a place like this.

But today he had business to attend to, which – unfortunately – took place in a area close to the Court. Avoiding the dangerous place would have meant at least two hours more for his way, so he decided to take the shorter, riskier route.

He still felt too well dressed for the Court, even though he had changed his blue cloak and hat against a worn jacket from the stable boy and a dirty shirt. His hand was always on his rapier, as he rounded corner after corner. The gazes lingered on him, interested and hungrily. Alone, he was an easy prey for the criminal gangs that tried to survive.

"You're attracting more attention than a whore in the Chatelet." Treville spun around at the sound of the deep voice, just to find a dark skinned man leaning against a wall, throwing a brown bag in his hand up and down casually. His purse, Treville found out seconds after he had searched his jacked for it. The teeth were bright in the dark face as the thief laughed.

"And incautious." Treville frowned, he couldn't remember that someone had passed him or came close enough to steal from him. For a second he thought about demanding his money bag, but decided against it. The thief wouldn't give up so easily and he surely had more friends here than Treville.

As he was about to go, the man spoke again. "Turn around and leave, as long as you still can." It didn't sound like a threat, more like a warning, which caused Treville to take a closer look at the thief. He was tall, at least a head taller than he was. His closes were ragged and dirty, but his skin was almost clean. The purse seemed to get lost in his big hands, but other than the Treville didn't find any weapons on him.

"Thank you for you concern, but I think I can look after myself, Monsieur…?" The thief laughed, but ignored his demand to hear a name. "They've already seen you and are waiting at the end of the street. Go down there and you won't come out unharmed."

Treville gripped the hilt of his sword tighter as he looked into the direction the thief had spoken about. "Just leave."  
The soldier sighed as he thought about his options. If he turned around now, he may be save but would have to walk all the way around. Moreover, he still wasn't sure if to trust this thief – he was a criminal after all. What if it was a trap and the men awaited him in the opposite direction?  
No, he would go his way as planned. He had his weapons with him and was warned, he could handle a few bandits after all.

"Thank you for your concerns, Monsieur." He bowed his slightly to the thief, as polite as always, before he wandered on. He noticed the thief vanish behind him in some side-alley and concentrated now on the way ahead.

Even though he was on high-alert, the kick into his back was unexpected. Treville stumbled, and before he could make out how someone managed to come up from behind, a fist collected with his face. Fortunately he managed to keep his senses and drew his rapier, pointing it at the men that now circled him. He counted four of them, all desperate and angry.  
As two ran towards him, he pushed his rapier into the stomach of the first and then drew his main-gauche. He was about to stab the second men, as a knife was pushed into his thigh. Air left his lungs as a hot, white pain exploded in his leg. Desperate to not give into the pain he clung onto consciousness and onto the weapon in his hand. But as a long serving soldier as he was, he knew that he was about to lose the fight.

A kick against his uninjured leg caused him to his knees and laughter erupted.

"Leave him be, I already got his money!" The voice seemed somehow familiar, but Treville couldn't find the face to it until the thief from earlier stepped into his eyeline.  
The three remaining attackers mumbled something he couldn't understand before they turned their backs on Treville. "And what if not?" The tallest of the attackers asked the thief as h took a step towards. "I don't want to hurt you, Martin." The thief looked annoyed as the three men circled him now instead of the soldier. Treville took the opportunity to climb back to his feet, even though he still had to lean against a wall to stay upright.

"You're alone here, Porthos. Charon is 'hunting'." The thief – apparently called Porthos – shrugged and tugged a knife out of his dirty boots. He wasn't as unarmed as Treville had thought. In his muddled mind he couldn't make out why the thief was protecting him so fiercely, but he also didn't find the strength to think about it.

After this Martin had thrown the first punch, it all went too fast. He fell to the round lifeless, a gaping wound in his chest. The other two men were without a chance against the strength of Porthos in a fist fight. He had thrown away the knife and knocked the heads of his opponents together. Two well placed punched more and the three men lay in the dirty, Porthos standing between the bodies.

"Told you, didn't I?" He muttered, quite annoyed, as he strode towards Treville and placed a arm around his waist. "Why did you do this?" The soldier frowned as Porthos helped him through the streets. "Your wound should be seen to soon or you will loose too much blood. Moreover I doubt that the knife was clean, you could catch an infection."

"Yes I know that. Thank you for your help. But again: Why did you help me?" Porthos stopped as they were at the last houses of the Court. He took a glance behind him and then forward to the cleaner and saver streets of Paris. "It's one thing to take what you need to survive, but a different to hurt someone out of fun and boredom."

Treville nod, he understood and once again bowed his head towards the thief – who wasn't as bad as he had thought.

"You're a good man, Porthos. And a good fighter. If you want to get out of here, I may have place for you."

_Some time later..._

It was a good day. Good few weeks actually. The sun had taken over the grey sky, lifting the moods of the king as well as of his soldiers. As the regiment was still building up, there wasn't much work to do but to train the few recruits and find more men that were able to serve as musketeers. But today, Treville decided, he would take the morning off and start later with his work. He had bought fresh fruits from the best market in Paris – close to the Louvres and decadent houses of the richest men of Paris.

His mood lightened up even more as he noticed that his favourite tavern had already opened. It was expensive and exclusive and he didn't visit it often – but today, he thought, he could go there again. On summer mornings they often sold cakes from a nearby bakery and some watered down wine. He sat down by a window from which he was still able to see the ongoing on the market place as he ordered some apple pie and wine from a service girl. Despite the early hour of day the tavern was already well visited. But, he guessed, that the apple pie was not the only reason for the many, mostly male, visitors. He had heard rumours but hadn't thought much about them until now. It was talked that a brothel had opened up over the tavern, both owners sharing their earnings they got though the cooperation.

Just then he noticed some girls sitting with the well dressed men, giggling and cuddling, confirming the rumours. It didn't bother him much, as he himself wasn't unfamiliar with brothels.

"Nothing for your taste?" The service girl asked as she brought the pie. Treville shook his head. "No thank you, Madame."

The girl shrugged as turned around but paused in her movement an turned back to him. "That's not everything we got. Upstairs is something for every taste, if you know what I mean."

He nod his thanks but denied the offer again. He wasn't in the mood and surely wouldn't need some 'specials'. He knew what probably was upstairs. Younger women, girls. But also men and boys, as the taste of the high-society was broad and sometimes disturbing.

Treville gulped down the last of his wine, put some coins on the table and was about to leave as shouts from above made him concerned. It weren't the kind of shouts you expected from a brothel, and as something shattered and a door slammed he strode toward the stairs to investigate. He didn't even have to go upstairs to see what was going on. A man, more a boy with unruly looking dark curls, stumbled out of a room followed by a well-dressed other man and a crying girl. It was obvious that the men had been in a fight, both still throwing fists. Treville watched how the younger man, who was only dressed in his breeches, made a well-placed punch into the other man's stomach, causing him to stumble backwards. The older man seemed to have enough as he drew a dagger and pointed it at the boy's throat. Treville had his hand already on his rapier and stood on the stairs, as he raised his voice. "ENOUGH!"

He watched the boy smirk slighty, as his attacker was distracted from the shout for a second. He grabbed the older man's wrist and twisted it until the dagger fell to the floor with a followed scream. The boy had thrown a few more punches, ducked under the angry arms of his attacker with an elegance Treville had never seen before in a fight, and managed to twist the man's arms on his back.  
"I said enough." Treville repeated as he reached the two men and his gaze fell onto the crying girl, who's lip was split from a punch.

"And who are you to command me what to do?" The boy asked. By now he had picked up the dagger and now held it against the older man's throat.  
"I'm Captain Treville of the musketeers. Let the man go and we will talk about this like gentlemen."

"I don't think so." The boy pressed the dagger harder against the mans skin and grinned as the man beneath him hissed. Treville sighed, he just wanted a free morning.

"Why not?"

"Because he hurt her." The boy pointed his head towards the crying girl, which seemed to have calmed down a little bit by now. She stumble to her feet to kneel beside the boy, who still didn't let go of the man on the ground. "It's okay, let him go and he won't come back, René. I'm alright." The boy, René, thought for a moment before he nod and let the dagger fall down. He got to his feet and just then Treville noticed the multiple bruises and cuts on the boy's torso, as well as old scars. "Shall I fetch a doctor?" He asked and hauled the man to his feet, pushing him towards the stairs and making him leave the tavern.

"I'm fine." René assured and turned his attention to the girl's split lip.  
"You fought well." Treville observerd as he watched the young people in front of him. Both of him still full of youth, that they had to be born in such a business.  
"Thank you, Captain Treville." René turned back to him, bowing his head politely. "I beg forgiveness for my rudeness earlier, Sir."

Treville couldn't hide the smile, at the sudden politeness of the boy. "It's okay. May I ask how old you are, René?"

"I got sixteen last week, Sir." Treville nod and sighed. He was still too young. "Ever thought about going to the infantry? You would make a good soldier." With a little bit of work, Treville was sure that René could be ready for the musketeers in two years, when he reached the minimum age to join the regiment.

René frowned and shook his head. "No, sir. I've heard soldiers don't earn much. I think I will be better here."

Treville sighed, but he couldn't force anyone to become a soldier. Maybe he had thought wrong and René wasn't made to be a musketeer anyway. Even the best can be wrong. He said his goodbyes and left the tavern.

…

Six months later a boy stood in his office, clothes ripped and dirty, hair an unruly mess. He had told him about a new owner of the tavern and brothel and that he had lost his job there a few months ago. He never told him about the missing months in between, which he lived on the streets and where had he sold his body outside the safety of a brothel. He never needed to.

Treville let him fight another recruit in the courtyard and shoot at the targets – after that, he didn't think long about giving René a new name and a new age. On paper he now was Aramis and eighteen years old – a musketeers recruit.

**Reviews are welcomed!**


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